


Dining at the Ritz (We'll meet at 9)

by SunshineSanctuary



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Ficlet, M/M, Not Beta Read, THAT couple, outside perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 02:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineSanctuary/pseuds/SunshineSanctuary
Summary: So it’s fairly obvious that Crowley and Aziraphale are That Couple™. You know the one: older, clearly been together for ages, completely comfortable with each other and deeply in love. They banter constantly and compliment each other in every way. There’s always a sweet one and a salty one and at least one of them has dirty sense of humor. Usually a same sex couple. Thoroughly adorable.So naturally, I had to write them from an outside perspective. A wee ficlet for your shipping pleasure:(feel free to leave comments. I am a whore for those things :D :D :D )





	Dining at the Ritz (We'll meet at 9)

No one really remembers when Messrs Fell and Crowley began frequenting our establishment. It had been a least a decade and they are by now quite well known to the whole of the staff. Oddly, they have never needed a reservation as a table always inexplicably comes free just in time for their impromptu drop ins. Today is no exception.

My tenure here is fairly recent but they have quickly become favorites of mine. They both have impeccable (read: expensive) taste and tip generously. Mr. Crowley has, admittedly, a somewhat questionable sense of humor it turns out. However, the effect is usually bellied by the sheer comedy of their near constant banter.

Mr. Fell is, in a word, adorable. Immaculately clad in his usual cheery pastels and tartan bow tie, he radiates good natured enthusiasm. He is unfailingly kind and there is but one instance that any can recall when the man had been anything but pleasant. It was a story that had gone down in infamy among the staff at the Ritz, whispered in hushed tones to the new hires in equal measures warning and fond. It was quite some years ago now. Crowley and Fell had been dining at their usual table. A rather unpleasant patron had been abusing one of our shyer waitstaff and the poor thing had been near to tears. Mr. Fell had, in all his indignant fuming glory, set the man straight in no uncertain terms. By a strange coincidence, a leg of the usually sturdy dining furniture had given way in the same moment, sending the nasty man sprawling on the fine carpet to a chorus of gasps from the onlookers. (Oddly, the chair was later found to be in perfect condition, not a defect to be found. The change of the upholstery to a subtle tartan was not remarked upon). Mr. Fell sent the young server off with a kind word, leaving the offending patron in a shocked heap behind him as returned primly to his seat. Mr. Crowley had watched the entire exchange with increasing amusement and was laughing openly by the time his companion had returned to their table. Mr. Fell had hushed him with a tiny self satisfied smile.

By contrast, Mr. Crowley puts one in mind of a bit of a washed up rocker. The aesthetic is all there of course, the bizarre swagger that seems to indicate either loose joints or mild inebriation, snakeskin boots, leather lapels and the trademark shades he never removes. There was, of course, some speculation on the purpose of the glasses. Most assumed it was part of the look™. Probably to bolster the “bastard” attitude that seems to me to be more stylistic than genuine most days. Personally, I am sure it is to save himself the embarrassment of walking around with heart-shaped irises in Mr. Fell’s wake. Though, to be honest, the shades don’t really help in that respect.

I suppress a smile as I approach their table, schooling my features into an expression of friendly, appropriate professionalism. Mr. Fell is positively beaming. Mr. Crowley regards his partner with his usual amused fondness. “What are we celebrating today, gentlemen?”

“The world.” Mr. Fell beams at Mr. Crowley, who doesn’t bother to tear his gaze away.

As is their usual custom, Mr. Fell dawdles over dessert, alternating between talking animatedly and making delighted scrummy noises in appreciation. He reaches across the table every now and again to run his fingertips lightly across the back of Mr. Crowley’s hand or to grasp his knee affectionately.

Mr. Crowley slouches with his chin propped on the heel of his hand, regarding his other half with an expression that, despite the sunglasses, can only be described as “besotted”.

I clock Mr. Fell’s empty glass and arrive at his elbow just as he looks up to wave me over. I refill his champagne flute smoothly.

“Ah thank you, my dear fellow.” Mr. Fell says happily as Crowley drains his glass and holds it out. “Really, my dear,” Mr. Fell remarks with contrived severity. “there’s no call to be indecorous.”

“Just being courteous, Angel. There’s no need to keep dragging the poor fellow back for little old me.” Crowley winks.

Mr. Fell titters a bit. “You could of course, leave the bottle,” he says to me.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I murmur. I find myself glancing between the two of them with a grin that is perhaps somewhat less than… ah… decorous. I ask before I am able to bite my tongue, “How long have you been together?”

“Longer than you’ve been alive, Junior.” Crowley replies with an airy smirk that stutters comically as Mr. Fell laces their fingers together and beams warmly at his companion.

“Oh,” says Mr. Fell with heart eyes every bit as ridiculous as the ones I suspect Mr. Crowley is hiding behind those shades, “Ages.”


End file.
